


of our weary city

by yulbos



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Red Iron Hawke, Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age), carver lives because i say he does, we thrive on the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulbos/pseuds/yulbos
Summary: The deal was this: pay off their debt, work for the Red Iron fora year, and then go their separate waysWhat the deal wasnot: stick around after the year's upor: against his better judgement, hawke never actually gets around to leaving the red iron





	1. Chapter 1

It takes two weeks for them to reach Kirkwall. By the time his feet touch stable, albeit a little rickety, ground Garrett is ready to collapse and sleep for a year. Carver doesn’t look to be faring much better – his knees give out from under him, Garrett’s hand shooting out to steady him when they almost crash into each other. What they offer each other can’t exactly be described as a _smile_ , but it’s the closest they’ve gotten in days.

He sees Aveline appear at the top of the gangplank over Carver’s shoulder. She moves slowly as she helps their mother gain her footing against the gentle sway of the ship, the tell-tale thud of Barkspawn following them clear even with the distance between them.

“We should’ve taken our chances in Ferelden.” Carver says quietly, as a particularly strong gust of wind ploughs through the docks. It pulls at the hair and clothes of the people still milling about, making his nose wrinkle. He very quickly lifts the collar of his tunic in an effort to block out the smell. His voice is husky; it’s the first thing he’s said in the past week, and he coughs into his hand to try and clear his throat. He steps further into Garrett’s space, making sure that their shoulders are brushing.

“Would have smelt better, at any rate.” Garrett mutters back. He keeps his voice quiet in the desperate hope that Leandra won’t hear.

It clearly doesn’t work, given the unimpressed look she shoots at them, and the long sigh she lets out when her feet touch the dock. Aveline gives them a half-hearted smile in sympathy. “Honestly, if all you two are going to do is complain, then I’ll find Gamlen on my own.”

“I’m just saying.” Garrett attempts a smile, although it quickly fades at the unimpressed look she’s giving him. “It’s a sad day when something manages to smell _worse_ than darkspawn. What a charming place we’ve found ourselves in.”

Carver steps in between them, cutting off the venomous glare Leandra had been aiming at him, and leans in close. “Do you really think now’s the best time to test her?”

“I don’t really care.” Garrett says, and he _means_ it. He’s spent the past… Maker knows how long putting up with snide comments and dirty looks, and he’s _tired_ of it. His shoulders are screaming for something more comfortable than the damp wood of the ship to lean on, and the crick in his neck is starting to feel permanent. “I’m going to try and find out how we can get into the city.”

Carver looks, as he so often does, like he wants to argue. He doesn’t get a chance to, though, because the sounds of a disturbance come floating through the wall behind them. His shoulders slump a little bit, and he sighs. “Go on then. We’ll be right behind you.”

Garrett gives them all one last look, and then darts off. He sees what the problem is almost immediately – a group of heavily armoured guards are standing watch over a crowd of thirty or so people as a man behind them tries to speak over the noise. Their arms are crossed over their chests, and their helmets mean Garrett can’t see their faces. But the other man conveys such disgust that he finds he doesn’t need to.

“They’re Fereldans.” Carver says directly into his ear. He jumps and turns his head enough to see they’ve all caught up with him. He ignores the amused grin Carver is giving him because it will only make him more smug. “I heard a couple of them talking – the attack at Highever was true.”

Aveline’s shield thumps to the ground as she rolls her shoulders. She lets it dangle from her fingertips, and if it weren’t for the fact that he can see how white her knuckles are, he’d almost believe it was casual. “They’re not letting anyone into the city.”

Leandra gasps. “What? That can’t be.”

The look Aveline gives her is kind, and her voice is gentle. “It’s true, look at them all.”

“Everyone’s fleeing the Blight, just like we are.” Carver says.

“They would throw us back to the wolves, I guarantee it.” 

“Let them try.” Garrett says, fingers inching towards the hilts of his daggers. He looks at Leandra. “We’re getting into this city one way or another.”

“We _need_ to find Gamlen.” She cuts him off, refusing to meet his eye. Instead she glances between Carver and Aveline, playing with the belt tied around her waist. “Our family was always highly regarded here, he should be able to help.”

“Let’s hope so. I don’t much fancy being stuck out here for very long.” Carver says darkly. He’s got his eyes trained on the guards, who have started pushing people around when they get too close.

“But they seem so pleasant.” Garrett claps a hand on Carver’s shoulder and winks. “Maybe you should try flirting with them? Woo them with your southern charms.”

“After you.” Carver makes an exaggerated sweep of his arm with a grin.

“They seem to be following that man’s orders.” Aveline interrupts. She’s pointing at the same miserable looking man Garrett had already noticed. “Maybe we should try talking to him?”

As they approach, one of the guards shoves a man with such force that he goes sprawling to the ground. One of his elbows smacks against the stone with a concerning crunch, and two other men spring into action. They rush to his side and pull him out of the path of potentially being trampled. Aveline lifts her shield, using it as a gentle buffer to part the crowd.

“Get back to the docks, you lot.” The nasty look remains on his face, lip curling even higher than before. “Trying to force your way through won’t get you in any faster. This is as far as you’re getting, so just _relax_.”

“What a lovely welcome party.” Garrett mutters, too quiet for the guards to hear. But Carver does, and there isn’t enough room for him to avoid the elbow that’s driven into his ribs. He huffs around a laugh, and then raises his voice. “I heard someone call this place the Gallows – it’s not a prison, is it?”

The guard looks at him, eyebrows drawn into a frown. “Used to be, back in the Imperial days. Kept slaves here until the rebellion, but now the Templars use it to lock up the mages.”

“If it’s not a prison then why aren’t we allowed into the city?” Carver asks. It’s a fair question, in Garrett’s humble opinion, but the sneer they get suggests the guards don’t like it very much and he feels his fingers curl into fists.

“If it were up to _me_ , I’d bar the gates and let you find somewhere else to beg.” The desire to punch him in the mouth grows even stronger. “But it’s not. Some of you might have legitimate business to attend to. So Knight-Commander Meredith’s having us sort you all out.” His smile turns nasty. “Most of you are getting back on your ships, though.”

Garrett breathes through his nose several times before attempting to speak. “‘Knight-Commander’s a Templar title. What’s the city guard doing taking orders from them?”

“We don’t _answer_ to her, but she’s the power in Kirkwall.” Garrett _really_ wants to punch him. “Not sure what would happen if the Viscount refused her, but he’s sure never taken that chance.”

“But you _do_ intend to let some of us in?” Garrett is quickly learning to appreciate Aveline’s diplomacy – it saves him solving the problem in what would definitely be considered the worst way. She steps forward in order to look the guard in the eye, shoving her shield into Garrett’s outstretched hands. Unsure of what else to do with it, he slings it over the crook of his elbow and ignores his body’s protests.

“We’ve got enough poor of our own in the Free Marches.” The man says, tongue darting out to swipe at his bottom lip. He keeps his eyes on the five of them. “We don’t need you… _refugees_ taking up space on top of that.”

“It’s clear you don’t want us here.” Garrett says, standing shoulder to shoulder with Aveline. Barkspawn presses against his thigh, and he places a reassuring hand on his head. “But is there anyone else we can actually _talk_ to about this?”

The man scoffs. “But of _course_ – what could I possibly know? I’m just the poor sod trying to stop you lot from climbing the walls.” He sighs and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Captain Ewald’s the one you’ll want. But, be warned – he’s heard the same sob story a hundred times already.”

Leandra looks like she’s ready to go charging off on her own, so Garrett puts a hand out in front of her. Carver whispers something to her that he doesn’t manage to catch, but it does stop her from looking like she’s about to start a war.

“Let’s just be calm about this and see if we can’t figure out what’s going on.” Garrett says. He slips the shield back into Aveline’s hands, nodding when she murmurs a soft thanks.

On their approach, the guards part just enough for them to squeeze through. The stairs beyond are dark – the sconces in the walls lay empty and forgotten. Garrett takes the steps two at a time, and by the time he’s reached the top his thighs are burning. He has to wait for the others to catch up, which gives him time to try and ease out some of the tension in his legs. There are more refugees up here, lining the corridor they find themselves in.

“The gates are shut.” Aveline points to what looks to be a lowered portcullis at the end of the pathway. “Not a good sign.”

“Because everything up until this point has been a barrel of laughs.” Garrett says, lips twitching into a tired smile when he gets a small, soft laugh. His steps are slow and careful now; just because he can’t see any angry guards at the moment, doesn’t mean they’re not _there_.

“I suppose you have a point.” Aveline says. She’s not speaking loudly by any means, but given how hushed things are around them, her voice still carries. She falls into step with him and lowers her voice. “Nothing has been recently.”

“The end of the world isn’t fun for you?” He knows it’s a feeble attempt at a joke, even for him. Carver and their mother are still behind them, but he speaks softly. “I’m sorry about Wesley.”

“As am I for Bethany. She seemed like a sweet girl.” She tilts her head and purses her mouth. “I must admit; I was shocked we ran into any of you at all, let alone a mage.”

Garrett shrugs as carelessly as he can. “We got good at hiding – you learn early on which Templars can be bribed, and when to run if things go south.”

“Were you in Lothering long?”

It takes him a moment to process that she’s asking out of genuine curiosity. He’s so used to being interrogated about it he can’t always tell the difference. “Two, maybe three years? It was… alright. No one asked too many questions so long as we were willing to offer help when needed. There wasn’t much point in leaving before… well… you know.”

“I’m beginning to forget what a stable home feels like.” Aveline says, smiling tightly. “I might even miss Ostagar.”

“Bad idea, that.” Carver says from behind them. Leandra is clutching onto his arm tightly enough to leave marks, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “If all goes well with this Captain Ewald we won’t have to worry.”

“Here’s hoping.”

There’s a fork in the path, and a quick glance to the right has Garrett veering in that direction. Through the gaps in the lowered portcullis, he can see an angry looking group of people arguing with who he can only assume is Captain Ewald. He lets out a heavy sigh through his nose.

“What a great first impression.”

“We don’t have much of a choice.” Aveline points out. “Let’s go and find out what all the fuss is about.”

They leave Leandra near the entrance of the courtyard, Barkspawn happily lolling at her feet, panting in the midday sun. It becomes apparent very quickly that these civilians are, unsurprisingly, refugees. Whilst they might be better dressed, their accents give them away almost immediately.

“Let us through, you flamin’ blighter. We’re not staying in this pit.” The ‘leader’ of this ragtag group says, pointing his finger in a guard’s face. 

Garrett winces, hand slipping to the hilt of one of his daggers.

“Then I suggest you get back on your ship and _leave_.” Ewald says. He looks down his nose at them and sniffs, the picture of serenity. Garrett can’t decide if he admires him or hates him. “Kirkwall has no more room for refugees.”

“You know full well the boat’s already left, you bastard.” Another says. “We paid good money to get ‘ere.”

“You and half of Ferelden.” His tone is dismissive, at best – and that’s Garrett being generous. “Look, there’s _nothing_ I can do. The city is full.”

“A guard said you were letting people in who have business in the city.” Garrett says as they get closer.

The other group all begin to nod. “That’s right. We’ve seen you let lots of others through.”

“Citizens and people with legitimate business, yes.” Ewald rolls his eyes. “I take it you don’t have more coin than these gentlemen here?” He huffs. “If we keep allowing people into the city it’ll be a lot worse for everyone else. We’ve been letting you Fereldans in for _months_ now. You’re too late.”

“Because there’s a time limit on running for your life?” Garrett demands. He doesn’t quite shrug off the hand Aveline places on his shoulder, because it’s not her he’s angry with, but it’s a close thing. “We’ve waited for months to even get here.”

“That might well be, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re too late. I cannot help you. There’s no more room.”

“Garrett.” Carver says warningly, nudging him out of the way. “We have family here.”

He rolls his shoulders and widens his stance slightly. “You think I haven’t already heard that story a thousand times over? We’ll find ships to take you all back to Ferelden. Eventually. For now… well, you’re just going to have to put up with it.”

“There must be someone else in charge – they can’t have just let it all fall onto you.” Garrett says, almost desperate.

“No. There isn’t.” Ewald closes his eyes and rubs tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “The order came directly from the Viscount, and Knight-Commander Meredith. Not that it matters; as far as _you’re_ all concerned, I’m the one in charge.”

Garrett takes a deep breath and then releases it through clenched teeth. “Then is there _any_ way we can get a message to someone in the city? My uncle knows we’re coming, he’ll confirm everything. His name’s Gamlen Amell.”

“Gamlen? That name sounds familiar.” Ewald waves another guardsman over.

“He’s a nobleman – our family has an estate.” Carver says, sounding very much like the words are lodged in his throat. The very notion of nobility is so farfetched it doesn’t seem like it could ever be real.

Ewald scoffs and shares a cocky smirk with the other guard. “A nobleman? The only Gamlen _I_ know is a weasel. Couldn’t rub two coppers together if he tried. But… if we hear from him, I’ll take you to him.” With that, the other guard scampers off as quickly as his heavy armour will allow. “But I don’t have time to-”

“You what?” Garrett hadn’t forgotten the other Fereldans, exactly, but their sudden interruption makes his pulse spike. “You’re gonna let _them_ through, but not us?”

“Nobody said anything about that.” Ewald says, but it’s too late. They’ve latched on like a dog with a bone.

The second in command swings his head around to stare at them. “We’ve been waiting here for four fucking days! They’ve only just got here!”

“That’s it!” The ring leader shouts, hand shooting for the cheap looking sword he’s got strapped to his waist. “We’re carving our way through! C’mon men!”

It comes as no real surprise that these men are barely trained – a quick look at the way they’re holding their swords is enough for Garrett to tell. Their hands are so far down the hilts, they’re almost holding the actual blades. Unfortunately, lack of training does not mean lack of speed, and it’s only because Aveline already has her shield up that Garrett isn’t immediately stabbed.

“Pay attention.” She hisses. Feeling suitably chastised, he does.

His daggers are light and short – it means he has to get in close range to use them effectively, which is fine. He’s used to it. What’s not fine is narrowly avoiding being clocked in the head by a guard as they come charging in with their sword raised above their head.

He sees Carver block an incoming attack with the flat of his blade, the resounding _clang_ echoing above the pre-existing noise. Aveline stands at his back, her body heat permeating his tunic and causing sweat to break out on the back of his neck. He ignores it, watching the way the loudmouth approaches him with an almost hungry look. Garrett’s never been a particularly patient man and waiting for the first attack is always the worst part.

The swing that comes at him is sloppy – it would have gone too wide, even without Garrett’s intervention. With the quick jab he gives the other man’s wrist, though, the sword goes crashing across the paving slabs as he grasps his wrist to his chest. Garrett doesn’t let that stop him, stepping close enough to land a hit to the ribs, twisting the blade when the man grunts in pain.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers as the man falls to his knees. “I’m so sorry.”

He pulls the dagger out and doesn’t have much time to consider what to do next because Barkspawn barrels past. He barks loudly as he launches himself at the man attacking Carver. There’s a brief howl of pain, and then the courtyard falls eerily silent, save for the low growling of Barkspawn.

“At ease, men.” Ewald says, kicking at the body of the ring leader. Garrett hadn’t even seen what happened to him, but he lies dead with several stab wounds in his chest.

“Captain, are you alright?” A young man – who looks to be a recruit given the feeble attempt at facial hair on his chin – asks, jogging down the steps behind them. His face is flushed, and he’s panting slightly.

“No thanks to you. Where is everyone? This needs to be taken care of.” When the recruit makes no sign of moving, Ewald grabs him by the shoulder and bodily spins him around. “Go and _find them_ , I want this under control _now_.”

He squeaks out a “Y-yes, Captain” before hurrying off.

Ewald turns back to Garrett and lets out a long sigh. “You have my thanks. Look, I can’t get you into the city. I wasn’t lying about that part, those _are_ my orders. But I can make sure your uncle is found and have him brought here.”

“That’s all I ask.” Garrett says. He sheathes his daggers after wiping them off as best he can.

* * *

Despite having seen the fight, Leandra lets Garrett know that she wasn’t happy about being kept waiting. He tunes her out, leaning against the wall and staring out over the docks. Seagulls caw in the distance and he keeps glancing up to make sure they’re not flying overhead.

Aveline doesn’t seem to be faring quite so well, and at some point moved off to sit with Carver. “It’s been three days.” He hears her say. Carver hums in agreement. “This waiting has to end at some point, surely.”

Leandra stalks over to them, hands on her hips as she stares down at them. “It shouldn’t be much longer. I’m sure Gamlen’s still looking for us!”

She doesn’t seem to notice the way all three of them roll their eyes. She’s been saying the same thing for the past two and a half days, but none of them seem willing to point it out.

Aveline has clearly had enough, however, because she clambers to her feet. “And what if he’s not? What if he _doesn’t_ come to find us?”

Either the Maker, or Andraste herself, are looking down on Garrett favourably for once, because he sees a small entourage of guards and a man he does not recognise approaching them from across the courtyard. He pushes off the wall and taps Aveline on the shoulder. “I think someone’s coming.”

Carver gets to his feet too, adeptly getting between their mother and Aveline. They watch as one of the Templars – the armour giving them away now that they’re close enough – point to them. The man nods, mutters something they have no chance of hearing, and then begins striding over to them by himself.

“Leandra?” The man asks, brow furrowed. His clothes are dirty, his hair is clearly in dire need of a wash and a comb, and Garrett can smell the alcohol already. “Damn, the years have _not_ been kind to you, have they?”

“So much for ‘nobility’.” Carver mutters, which makes Garret snort before he can stop himself. He covers his mouth and tries to play it off as a cough.

“Gamlen!” Their mother crows, brushing past Carver with her arms outstretched. She throws herself at him and doesn’t seem to notice how reluctantly he hugs her back. 

Gamlen pulls back first, going so far as to physically step away. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t exactly expecting _any_ of this. The Blight; your husband – I thought you’d be in Ferelden for the rest of your life.”

“We left it too late.” Leandra says, looking anywhere but at Gamlen. “My poor, poor Bethany didn’t make it. Andraste guide her.” Her eyes land on Garrett, and her brow furrows deeply.

Gamlen looks to the sky, closes his eyes briefly, and takes a deep breath. “Leandra don’t do this to me here. I’m not even sure if I can get you in.”

“Could you at least get Mother in?” Carver asks.

“No! We stay together. I refuse to be separated now.” Leandra says firmly, shaking her head.

“I was hoping to… grease some palms, so to speak. See if we couldn’t get you in that way. But the Knight-Commander’s been cracking down.” Gamlen coughs a few times to clear his throat before spitting on the ground. “We’re going to need more grease.”

“What about the estate?” Leandra demands. The thing about his mother, Garrett has learnt over the years, is that the angrier she is, the quieter she gets. Her voice is barely above a whisper at this point. “Surely there was _something_ left when Father died?”

“About that…” Gamlen wrings his hands, looking to Carver and Garrett for assistance. Finding none, he visibly swallows. “I’ve been meaning to write to you, but, um… the estate’s… it’s gone. In order to settle a debt, you understand.”

Leandra frowns. “But how? Never mind, I suppose that’s not important right now. This means there’s no hope of us getting in, is there?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” Gamlen perks up, and it immediately sets alarm bells off. “I know some people who might be able to help – so long as you’re not too picky about the company you keep, of course.”

Garrett can already see the rejection written on his mother’s face, and steps forward. “What kind of people?”

“I’ve spoken to some of my contacts,” and doesn’t _that_ fill Garrett with confidence, “who might be willing to pay your way into the city.”

“There’s a catch, isn’t there?” Carver asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gamlen looks mildly insulted. “I don’t think wanting you to work off the debt is too much to ask.”

He… actually has a point there, Garrett realises. “Sounds reasonable enough, I suppose.” He says, eyeing Carver and hoping he’ll keep his mouth shut. “Would it help if I said you were my favourite uncle?”

Gamlen laughs. It’s a rusty sound, as if it doesn’t get used much, and it makes Garrett smile a little bit. “Well, it would make _me_ feel better, but that’s about it. From what I can gather, repayment would take about a year.”

“A _year_?” Leandra cuts in. Her mouth gapes for a moment, before snapping shut. “What could you possibly be having them do?”

“It’s the best I could do!” Gamlen snaps. “Trust me, no other refugees will be getting as decent an offer as this.”

Garrett reaches out as if to touch Leandra’s arm, before his hand drops back down to his side. “What’s a year? If it gets us in, then surely it’s worth it? Besides, we’ll be free and clear in no time.”

“That’s the spirit!” Gamlen claps his hands and then rubs them together. “I’ve managed to convince them both to meet you in the Gallows.”

“You still haven’t told us what kind of work they’re after.” Aveline points out.

“Meeran runs the Red Iron. I don’t know much other than that they’re a mercenary company looking for recruits. Meeran doesn’t tell anyone much of anything, contrary bastard that he is. Athenris, on the other hand, is… something of a smuggler, I suppose.” He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and then onto his trousers.

“Sounds suspicious.” Garrett says with an approving nod. “They’re the only two?”

“Yes. Either one should be able to help you, all you have to do is convince them you’re worth the trouble. Should be a piece of cake.”

“What d’you think?” Garrett asks, glancing over at Carver. “Who do you want to talk to first?”

Carver pauses for a moment, and then shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter to me, so long as they don’t try and ship us back to Ferelden.”

“Alright, Uncle.” Garrett says, the word sitting strangely on his tongue. “Is there anything else I should know about this Meeran?”

“He’s a mercenary, what do you expect? I wouldn’t bring him home for dinner, but he has a decent enough reputation. If I thought he’d cross you, I wouldn’t have asked him to help.”

Garrett takes a second to consider this and then looks to Carver. “Let’s go and find him then, shall we?”

His brother moves to his side and mutters into his ear. “You have any idea where to find him?”

“Not a clue.” Garrett murmurs back as quietly as he can. “Can’t be very far, though.”

“Oh, Gamlen.” Leandra sighs. “I don’t know about this.”

He crosses his arms and taps his foot. “Look, don’t go expecting the family name to carry the kind of weight it used to. This is a lot of coin we’re talking about, you can’t just expect them to hand it to you for free.”

“What about me?” Aveline asks. She’s been quietly watching them from a distance and Garrett has to look over his shoulder to see her. She’s tense, and frowning – never a good sign. “I won’t have people in debt on my account.”

“Can’t see why it’ll be a problem – you look like a lady who can take care of herself.”

“Then you’ll come with us.” Leandra says, voice firm as she offers Aveline a small smile. It’s the friendliest she’s been in days, and it almost takes Garrett by surprise.

Aveline ducks her head, posture relaxing minutely. “Thank you.”

“Guess that means you’re stuck with us now, Vallen.” Garrett teases, just to see her smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays!

Finding Meeran, it turns out, is almost embarrassingly easy – a few quick words with one of the Templars loitering around the Gallows has them going in the right direction. Not that it even helps that much anyway, because Meeran himself waves them over when they get near enough. He isn’t all that impressive up close; despite how stocky he is, he’s also pretty short. Garrett _will_ give him that he looks like he’s lived through some of the worst that the world has to offer and firmly told it to fuck off.

He gives them all a very assessing look on their approach. “You two are the Hawke boys, I take it?”  
  
 “That’d be us.” Garrett says as they slow to a stop. Carver and Aveline flank either shoulder.  
  
 “Your uncle talked up a storm about the two of ya. He’d better not be talkin’ out of his arse. As per usual.”

Carver fidgets beside him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It takes every ounce of patience Garrett has to resist elbowing him in the stomach. “Funny that, he didn’t really tell us much about _you_ at all.”  
  
Meeran scoffs. “Forgot yer not a Marcher.” He starts pacing, folding his hands at the small of his back. “The Red Iron’re well known around Kirkwall – _we_ pick who we work for. That way we keep our noses clean. Anyone screws with us, though, and we mess ‘em up. That make sense?”  
  
 “Makes sense.” Aveline agrees.  
  
Meeran’s eyes leap to her face, as if suddenly noticing her presence. “Who’s this? Gamlen only mentioned the two of you.” He shakes his head. “I don’t mind an extra pair of hands, so long as you’re willing to put in the work.”  
  
 “Ah,” Garrett jumps in with a nervous laugh. He rubs his palms against his thighs. “This is Aveline. She’s a friend.”  
  
Meeran gives her a once over, sucks on his teeth, and then nods. “You look like you can handle yourself.” He says approvingly.

“Gamlen said getting us into the city is going to take a lot of money.” Carver says, scratching at the back of his head. “Is that true, or is he just ‘talking out of his arse’?”  
  
 “Oh it’s true.” Meeran actually _laughs_. “The Red Iron gets paid well enough to cover it. Plus, as I said, Gamlen wouldn’t shut up about how useful you are. It’s an investment we’re willing to make.”  
  
Garrett rolls his shoulders. “How do you even _know_ Gamlen? He doesn’t seem the sort to hang out with mercenaries.”  
  
 “He isn’t. He cheated one of my men at a wallop match – you work out for us and we’ll call it even.”

“Still seems a bit risky to me.” Garrett says. Aveline makes a noise of agreement. “Not that I’m not grateful – I am – but all you’ve got to go on is word of mouth.”  
  
Meeran shrugs, and then sneers. “Eh, if you _don’t_ work out, we’ll just stick you on the shittiest jobs we’ve got. Some o’ the boys are hoping for it, actually. Either way, you’ll be safe for a year, and we get our coin back. Win-win, if you ask me.”  
  
Garrett has known from the beginning how this is going to end, so he steps forward with a hand outstretched. “Time to prove our worth then, I suppose.”  
  
“Good.” Meeran says, clasping hands and thumping him on the shoulder. “Already got something of a job for ya. There’s a fella here in the Gallows, goes by the name of Friedrich. One o’ those noble bastards – right uppity. Gave us some bad info that almost got my men killed.”  
  
 “You want us to go and talk to him.” Carver guesses. He doesn’t look overly impressed, but then he rarely does. Garrett ignores him.  
  
 “Want you to do a damn sight more than that, lad. From what we know, he’s hiding out down here in the hopes of catching the first ship out. I need someone to get to him before he does. But if he sees any of my men coming, he’ll go straight back into hiding again, and it was hard enough finding him this time ‘round.”

Garrett nods slowly. “So you need us to go because he won’t recognise us?”  
  
 “Yer sharp.” Meeran says with an approving nod. “When you find him, I need you to kill ‘im. We’ll make sure no one asks too many questions.”  
  
Garrett blows out a heavy breath through his nose. Aveline tenses beside him, and he sees Carver’s scowl deepen. “You know where he is?”

* * *

The Gallows is an overwhelmingly large place, they quickly learn. They cycle through several of Meeran’s informants, and although the information they get isn’t necessarily the _best_ , it does at least help them get a feel for the place. After a few hours he doesn’t feel quite so out of place anymore anyway, even when they shuffle past his mother and uncle for the third time.  
  
 “What do you reckon this ‘wrong info’ even _is_?” Carver complains, rubbing a weary hand over the back of his neck. “He’s got us running around like idiots.”

Garrett is only half paying attention, but he knows he murmurs something that sounds like an agreement. He’s distracted, too busy eyeing up a market stall. His mouth waters at the sight of what looks like fresh fruits glowing in the afternoon sun. Their last meal – if the _slop_ they’d had can even be considered food – had been _hours_ ago and his stomach rumbles. There’s a tug in his stomach that is almost impossible to ignore, and his feet start walking in that direction before he even has a chance to think about it. Before he knows it, he’s mere inches away from a crate of apples, and he barely resists reaching out to take one. It’s close, though.  
  
 “Have you checked the courtyard?” A voice Garrett does _not_ recognise says, close enough to distract him. His accent is odd, which might be why it draws his attention in the first place. He’s definitely not from Kirkwall _or_ Ferelden, at the very least.

“He’s still out there. Hasn’t made a move yet, though.” Another man says. He’s leaning against the wall, the lit torch beside him casting his face into shadow and making it difficult to read his expression properly. He _sounds_ annoyed, but it’s hard to tell. Everyone sounds annoyed in Kirkwall.  
  
The first one begins to pace, wringing his hands. He’s wearing fancy clothes – the kind that are personally tailored. It’s enough to make Garrett raise an eyebrow at Carver and get a nod in return. “I don’t like this. What are we going to do when the ship arrives?”  
  
Aveline slinks up behind Garrett, faking an interest in the market stall. Luckily for them, there isn’t a merchant around to hound them for a sale. She steps in closer. “I think that might just be our man.”

“It’s beginning to look that way.” Garrett agrees as he picks up an apple to inspect it. It’s yellowing slightly around the top, and the middle is a little soft. He puts it back.  
  
 “Calm down.” The one leant against the wall says, hiding a yawn behind one of his hands. He catches sight of them and straightens up, immediately reaching for his sword.  
  
The rest of the men gathered around them catch on _very_ quickly, instantly reaching for their own weapons. Friedrich spins around, the ends of his ponytail hitting him in the chin when he comes to a stop. He pulls strands of dirty blonde hair from his mouth and scowls. “Who are you?” He demands, still tugging at his hair. “What are you doing here?”

Garrett moves away from the stall and gives one last regretful look to the apples. He puffs his chest out and saunters over to where they’ve hidden themselves in the shadows, trying for a cocky grin. One of them points a shaky sword in his face, and he tuts. “I would’ve thought that fairly obvious.” He says cheerfully, jerking his chin towards the stall. He hears Carver sigh behind him, and his grin brightens.  
  
 “Meeran sent ‘em.” One of them says with a frown.  
  
 “I’m not an idiot!” Friedrich whines, even going so far as to stamp his foot. “I could’ve figured that out on my own.”

Carver scoffs. It’s not _loud_ , by any means but it is enough to capture Friedrich’s attention.  
  
 “Look here, you… I don’t know what that _pissant_ is paying you, but whatever it is, I’ll double it! Just let _me_ go.”  
  
 “I’ll consider it,” Garrett says, relaxing his posture. “If you tell me _why_ he wants you dead so much.”

Friedrich has the gall to _laugh_. “Those idiots take everything far too seriously. All I did was tell Lord Asheral they were coming…” He trails off, hands twisting, and only continues when Garrett makes a sympathetic noise. As if _he_ has any idea who this ‘Lord Asheral’ is. “It was just business! I was going to give the Red Iron a share of the profit.” He gestures at them. “Or it could go to _you_ , if you’d just let me go. You can have it all.”  
  
 “Hang on.” The same one who’s been doing most of the talking says, turning to Friedrich and pointing his sword in his face. “You told us the money would come to _us_.”

The blood drains from Friedrich’s face and he waves his hands. “And once we’ve reached safety, it _will_. I promise you. But to actually get there we need-” He makes a choking sound. Garrett’s eyes flick downwards to see that there’s a sword protruding from Friedrich’s stomach.  
  
 “You’re a lying piece of shit, Friedrich.” The ‘guard’ hisses, shoving the sword in deeper and twisting his wrist upwards. Blood trickles from the corner of Friedrich’s mouth and he gurgles. “Should’a known you’d try and fuck us over.” He pulls the sword out, placing his foot against Friedrich’s shoulder and using it as an anchor. He watches Friedrich’s body crumple to the ground with disinterest, and then wipes the blood off on his trousers. “You can tell Meeran the job’s done.” He says, looking up at Garrett. “The rest of us will be outta here by nightfall.”

“What about your money?” Carver asks carefully.  
  
He gets an almost… _amused_ look in response. “We know where he kept it – idiot couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.”  
  
They watch the four men disappear off through the gate leading down to the docks a few moments later. Garrett hears one of them laugh and he shakes his head, before turning to face Carver and Aveline. “What a welcome, eh?”  
  
 “This place is bloody awful.” Carver retorts, completely deadpan.

“I’m sure it must have… _some_ redeeming qualities.” Garrett pauses for a moment and then sticks a finger in Carver’s face. “Just you wait until we find a tavern, that’ll be sure to life your spirits!”  
  
 “It’ll take a lot of alcohol.”  
  
 “Maybe Meeran will treat us. You know, as a job well done.”

Carver’s answer to that is a derisive snort, and honestly, Garrett can’t argue. He can’t quite stop the smile either, and he watches Carver struggle to do the same.  
  
 “We should report back to Meeran.” Aveline says, drawing their attention back to the task at hand. A talent of hers, he’s found.  
  
 “Right you are.” Garrett claps his hands twice. “Let’s hope we don’t get lost on the way back.”

* * *

As it turns out, there isn’t a chance for them to get lost because Meeran is waiting for them just around the corner. He’s tucked himself as close to the wall as he can manage, but it seems rather pointless given the way his grey hair reflects in the dim light. That, and the fact he’s flanked by two armed men. Garrett is honestly beginning to question if _everyone_ in this city just happen to carry a weapon on them at all times. They startle at the trio’s approach, only standing down when Meeran waves them off.  
  
 “Dead and buried.” Garrett announces and then shrugs. “Well. Dead, anyway.”  
  
“Excellent. Welcome to the Red Iron, the three of you. You can tell yer uncle I’m finalising the arrangements.” He brushes past them, back out into the sunlight. “C’mon boys, we’ve got work of our own to be gettin’ on with.”  
  
 “How will we know when you’ve got work for us?” Carver calls out to their quickly retreating backs.  
  
Meeran smirks at them over his shoulder. “Don’t worry! We know where Gamlen lives – we’ll find you when we need you.”  
  
Garrett watches them fade into the distance. He raises his eyebrows and sucks in a deep breath through his mouth. “Well. That was… surprisingly easy.” ****  
  
“I don’t trust them.” Carver says, careful to keep his voice quiet even now. He falls silent for a few moments, and then groans. “Ugh, we’re going to end up _talking_ like them.”  
  
 “I don’t think we’re _meant_ to trust them.” Aveline says, shielding her eyes against the sun. “I suppose we’d best go and find Gamlen.”  
  
Garrett aims a grin at her. “You sure you don’t want to wander around aimlessly for the next few hours? I have it on good authority that it’s an excellent way to stretch your legs.” ****  
  
In the months that he’s known her, Garrett has come to learn a few important things about Aveline Vallen. One – she is terrifyingly adept in a fight. Two – she’d somehow managed to actually fall asleep on the ship, which is a feat in itself. Three – and this one he feels is the most important, for the sole fact he’s determined to change it – she doesn’t smile. Oh, she _pretends_. But it’s never very big, only ever playing at the corners of her mouth.  
  
It’s the same smile that she’s giving him now. “I’m more worried about your mother and uncle killing each other if we don’t return soon.”

“That’s… an excellent point.” The grin fades and his shoulders slump. “This is going to be interesting.”  
  
 “Hopefully it won’t be for _too_ long.” She says, face clearly suggesting she doesn’t really believe it.  
  
 “Just a year.” Garrett raises one unenthusiastic fist in the air. “What’s a year, really?”

Carver sniggers but doesn’t bother answering. He leads them back across the courtyard towards wherever they’d left Gamlen and Leandra. Garrett’s so tired that things have started to blur together, so he follows in silence for what _feels_ like an hour, but is probably closer to ten minutes. He’s barely even paying attention, only snapping back into action when Carver nudges him in the ribs. He somehow manages to stand up straight and stride back over to them.  
  
 “Any luck?” Gamlen asks, turning his back on Leandra from where she’d been saying something to him.

Garrett cocks his head to the side and smirks. “You doubted? Meeran says he’ll take care of it.”  
  
Gamlen smiles, visibly relieved. “That’s excellent news. Listen, I’ve got a few bits of business to take care of myself. Wait here, would you? I shouldn’t be too long.”  
  
 “I’m getting really tired of people doing that.” Garrett says mildly, once Gamlen’s vanished from sight. “Nobody ever wants to just have a chat, do they?”

“But does that mean it’s over?” Leandra interrupts, striding over to clutch at Carver’s arm. He tries to shake her off, but all it does is make her hold on tighter.  
  
 “For now.” He says. His voice is deceptively calm, but Garrett can see the tightness around his eyes.  
  
Garrett slaps his brother on the shoulder, dislodging Leandra’s hold enough for Carver to pull free. “Let’s not do that again any time soon, eh?” He ignores the grateful look Carver gives him. “Once was enough.”  
  
“If only Bethany were here.” Leandra sniffles. She dabs at her nose with her sleeve, but her eyes are boring into the side of Garrett’s head.  
  
He looks away, up at the Circle in front of them. He closes his eyes and breathes a few times.  
  
 “And Wesley. He should be here.” Aveline whispers, shoulders drooping.  
  
 “I’m sorry.” Garrett murmurs. He’s careful to make sure Leandra doesn’t see him do it.  
  
Aveline shakes her head, eyes sad. “It wasn’t your fault. Any of it.”  
  
Carver steps into his side and bumps their shoulders together. “Bethany wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, you know. She, and she _alone_ , made her choices. There’s no way you could have stopped it.”  
  
Garrett doesn’t bother trying to argue with them, but he can see the way Leandra looks at him and knows that that isn’t true. He blinks rapidly for a moment, and then coughs.  
  
 “I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me.” Carver says, still leaning against his shoulder.  
  
 “You’re going to be waiting a long time.” Garrett fakes a smile, taking a few steps forward and then spinning on his heel. “Well, after that _charming_ introduction, what do you say to finding out what else this city has to offer?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year!! i hope everyone's holiday period was at the very least tolerable <3
> 
> i'm tentatively gonna try and stick to a schedule of every other wednesday, but i make no promises of that actually holding out for long

It might have been a very long time since Leandra stepped foot in Kirkwall, but a combination of vague memories and talking to disgruntled locals eventually leads them to _The Hanged Man_. It isn’t anything particularly special, and the barmaid isn’t exactly _friendly_ to strangers. But there’s ale, and they even manage to get some food. It means handing over the small amount of silver they have left, but given the how satisfyingly _full_ his stomach feels, Garrett thinks it’s worth it.

Gamlen finds them eventually, several hours after he’d disappeared. He looks unimpressed, swiping at his brow as he stomps over to their table. It’s tucked in the corner, out of the way. The tavern isn’t overly busy, but Aveline had wanted her back to the wall, and Carver had wanted to people watch.

 “Evenin’, Uncle.” Garrett says. He beckons Gamlen over with an exuberant wave of the hand, almost smacking Carver in the side of the head.

There is no chance to apologise, because Carver reaches out to snatch the last drumstick from Garrett’s plate in retaliation. He bites into it with relish. Grease drips down his chin and he wipes at it with the hem of his tunic, ignoring the way Leandra tuts at him and winking at Aveline.

 “Could you not have stayed where I left you?” Gamlen grumbles, even as he pulls a chair over from one of the nearby tables. He sinks down onto it with a heavy sigh and makes a vague hand gesture at the barmaid. It draws her away from the dwarf she’d been chatting to at the bar.

“We were hungry!” Carver explains, mouth still full.

 “And you couldn’t have waited?”

 “Well, you were gone for _ages_.” Carver waves the drumstick around for emphasis, sending bits of chicken flying. “‘Sides, we’re _citizens_ now. We can go wherever we like.”

Gamlen huffs through his nose and taps his fingers against the table. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far, just yet. But you’re in luck – we’re rather close to my house.”

 “You live in Lowtown?” Leandra says faintly. The discomfort would be evident even without the slight sneer she doesn’t bother hiding.

 “I’m not sure what you were expecting, given all I’ve told you.” Gamlen shifts out of the way as the barmaid approaches. She places a beaten tankard on the table in front of him, nodding at his murmured thanks. “You’re quite welcome to find somewhere else to stay, if you’d rather.”

Leandra goes even paler, if that’s possible. “It’s no problem!”

“He’s got a point.” Carver agrees, when Leandra pulls a face. “If I never have to try and sleep on water again, it’ll be too bloody soon.”

 “And if _I_ never have to put up with you elbowing me in the bladder all night, _that’ll_ be too bloody soon.” Garrett ducks out of the way when Carver swipes at his head. He waggles his eyebrows over the rim of his tankard. When he’s finished his drink he smacks his lips and hums.

Gamlen sighs, standing up and draining the other half of his ale. The tankard thuds against the table. He stretches his arms above his head and yawns. “C’mon then.”

 “Uncle?” Garrett asks as he gets to his feet. “How far have we got to go?”

 “Not far – a few streets over.” Gamlen’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“No reason, really. I’m just worried that Carver won’t last the journey.” He snorts at the glare he’s given.

When he offers a hand, Carver takes a second to decide whether he’s going to accept it or not. Warm, dry fingers wrap around Garrett’s wrist, and his arm goes taut as he takes the weight of pulling his (ridiculously tall and hefty) brother from his seat. They take a moment to grin at each other, and then dissolve into helpless giggles.

Aveline shakes her head and starts ushering them towards the door, following Gamlen. She’s careful to ensure they’ve remembered everything, snagging her shield from where it’d been propped against the table. She straightens back up to find Garrett waiting for her at the door, Carver’s head peaking over his shoulder.

They quickly fall into step beside her, trailing after Gamlen and Leandra at a distance. They’re careful to keep them within sight, but neither Hawke seems particularly worried about sticking close.

 “I’m worried.” Carver says after a few minutes of silence. He’s got his arm over Garrett’s shoulders, and at this point Aveline is hard pressed to decide who’s holding up who. “I’ve been so focussed on getting us here, I didn’t bother thinking about what would happen when we _did_.”

“I don’t think we would have been prepared, even if we _had_ thought about it.” Garrett says, voice soothing. It’s the softest Aveline’s heard him speak in a long time. “Mother promised us an entirely different welcome.”

 “It’s been hard for her.” Aveline says, glancing up at the surrounding buildings. They’re by no means in the nicer part of the city, that much is clear even now. But she can’t quite understand Leandra’s disdain. At least, not based on first impressions.

Garrett wraps his arm around Carver’s waist, hanging onto a beltloop to keep him upright. They’re both dragging their feet, but from the looks of it, Garrett is faring slightly better. “She was always telling us stories, when we were kids. About how her father was ‘extremely important’ in Kirkwall. Not that it mattered much to three little terrors running around rural Ferelden, mind.”

  “I’ll have you know I was a _delightful_ child.” Carver butts in with a tired smile. “You were the one that told me to climb that tree that I broke my arm falling out of. Wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t _dared_ me to.”

Gamlen and Leandra have paused ahead. Leandra’s foot is tapping, and Gamlen’s fighting yet another yawn, so Aveline increases her pace. Garrett just about manages to keep up with her, barely saving Carver from landing on his face when he stumbles over his own foot.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.” Garrett says, heaving Carver along through sheer force of will.

Aveline hovers, ready to step in and offer them help, but by the time Garrett truly begins to flag, they’ve already caught up with Gamlen. He points to the house on the corner.

 “Almost there, just up those stairs.”

“Thank the Maker.” Garrett sighs. He shifts his hold on Carver’s waist, blowing into his ear when he grumbles. “You’re bloody heavy, you know that?”

Carver lifts his head enough to glare at Garrett. He somehow finds the energy to straighten his shoulders and helps get to the bottom step.

Their uncle leads the charge, jogging up the steps quickly. Once he’s at the top, he pushes the door open and holds it until Garrett and Aveline have managed to virtually drag Carver up.

Gamlen’s house isn’t actually as awful as Garrett had first feared. They’ve three rooms to share between them, which means that Carver and Garrett will have to share with Gamlen. But given some of the places they’ve rested their heads over the last six months, Garrett is absolutely _not_ going to complain. The main room is on the smaller side, unsurprisingly, but there’s a low fire crackling away in the hearth. Leandra walks towards it immediately, sticking her hands out over the minimal flames. She glances around the room, taking in the scarce furniture and the threadbare rug on the floor with a grimace.

“It isn’t much.” He hears Gamlen say through the partly closed door of the bedroom. “But at least it’s warm.”

Two mattresses lie haphazardly on the floor, straw poking out from poorly patched holes. Aveline helps him manoeuvre Carver to one of them, then begins to unlace his boots with a gentleness Garrett doesn’t expect.

He lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress with a tired groan. Aveline remains crouched by his feet, fiddling with a particularly stubborn knot. Garrett watches her struggle for a few moments before he clears his throat. “Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking _you_.” Aveline protests, her voice quiet as the silence of the house settles around them. “I don’t know where I would be without the kindness your family’s shown me.”

Garrett chuckles, but it’s a bitter thing. “We’d all be dead without you, you know. There wouldn’t be much to worry _about_.” He rolls his head so he can stare blankly up at the ceiling. The wood is slightly damp, and he follows the patterns bleeding through the planks. “I don’t know what the future has in store, for _any_ of us. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’ve been a good friend to me, Garrett.” She says, turning her attention back to Carver’s boots. She lines them up to the edge of the mattress, tucks the laces inside as neatly as she can, and then gets to her feet. She takes one last look around the room. “I’ll go and see if there’s anything your uncle needs help with.”

 Garrett nods at the deep breaths Carver’s taking. “You’ve got to be as tired as this one.”

Aveline smiles at his soft snoring. “I won’t have Gamlen thinking I’m taking his generosity for granted.” She says instead, voice firm. The door doesn’t quite close behind her as she leaves, and it means he catches sight of his mother. She’s sat in front of the fire, eyes blank as she stares into the flames, hands now clutched in her lap.

* * *

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep – he even vaguely remembers making an attempt to get up and move to the other mattress at one point. But his knees had argued their point well enough to convince him to lie back down. So, he wakes up to Carver’s hair in his mouth, and the ever-present elbow in his bladder.

Sunlight filters through the small, grimy window directly into his eyes and he blinks against it, even as he stifles a groan with his palm. Carver shifts beside him, knee knocking into his hip as he murmurs something Garrett has no hope of understanding. Garrett rolls off the mattress and immediately curses under his breath when his knee smacks into the very solid wooden floor. He checks that Carver is still asleep, and then falls back to sit on the floor. The first thing he notices is that the bed is empty, ratty sheets thrown to the end of it. There’s a pillow discarded on the floor that he reaches out to grab, hugging it to his chest.

He glances around the room, taking in what he hadn’t been able to see last night. An unsteady looking dresser is tucked in one corner, its drawers not quite sitting in the frame properly. There’s also a picture hanging on the wall, interesting enough to have Garrett clambering to his feet to look at it properly. He throws the pillow in the general direction of the bed as he moves and comes to a stop a few inches from the wall. The frame is worn at the edges, as if it’s been moved around a lot.

Garrett reaches out to brush his fingers over the golden inlay, even as his gaze shifts to the painting itself. A woman who looks startlingly like his own mother sits in the centre of the frame. Her blonde hair is pulled back out of sight, but Garrett knows from years of watching Leandra play with Bethany’s hair that it’s tied into a fancy knot. A younger version of who he can only assume is Gamlen stands at her shoulder, hand not quite touching her. He’s got rosy red cheeks, and a glint in his eye that promises mischief. It’s so out of character for the man Garrett knows now – as little as that is – that it makes him pause.

“I had to smuggle _that_ out when I left the estate.” A gruff voice states from the doorway, drawing Garrett’s attention. Gamlen’s leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He tilts his head, eyes squinting as he studies the painting. “Thought I might be able to get a decent amount of coin for it. But no one wanted it, so now I’m stuck with the blasted thing.”

Garrett doesn’t have an answer to that, so he shrugs. “Who could turn down such a handsome face? Criminal, that is.”

Gamlen’s mouth quirks, like he’s fighting a smile. He jerks his head towards the room behind him. “Now that you’re up, I’ve got a few errands I need to take care of. Breakfast’s cooking.”

 “Of course.” Garrett hears the unvoiced order, and scratches at his chin. He follows Gamlen out, the smell of bacon frying over the fire instantly hitting his nose. Given the way his stomach rumbles, it’s a wonder how he didn’t smell it before. “What are _you_ going to do?”

 “Make sure Meeran’s followed up on his promises, for starters.” Gamlen points to the low standing cabinet beside the front door. “Plates are in there.”

“Right.” Garrett says, rubbing at his eyes. He yawns. “Sorry for vanishing last night.”

Gamlen stares at him for a while, eyes guarded. It’s starting to become uncomfortable when he shakes his head. “You’ve… been through a lot, I understand.”

 “Thanks.” The silence that falls between them is awkward, but not oppressive. “I’ll let the others know where you’ve got to.”

Gamlen nods, before slipping out the door. It snicks shut behind him softly, and then the house is quiet. He moves over to the fire to make sure the bacon isn’t burning. To his relief, he sees that it’s recently been placed in the pan and has only just started to hiss. Through the wall he can hear the soft sounds of Leandra snoring, and of Aveline shifting around.

The bedroom door opens again, hinges squeaking a little bit. The sound of bare feet shuffling across the floor precedes Carver collapsing heavily onto the sofa next to him. It’s old and worn, and some of the stuffing is coming out in places, but it’s comfortable. Carver’s got a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he’s rubbing at his eyes. His hair sticks up in every direction, and Garrett can’t help but try and flatten it back into place.

“Mornin’” Carver says, and it’s a testament to just how groggy he still is that he doesn’t react to Garrett’s fussing. “Where’s Gamlen?”

 “Checking up on Meeran.” Garrett answers, leaning off the sofa as far as he can without _actually_ getting up in order to flip the bacon over. There’s a bowl of eggs beside Carver and he points at it. “Pass us that, would you?”

Laziness clearly runs in the family, because it takes Carver several attempts to grab it. When he hands it over, though, there’s a very small, very excited smile curving his mouth. “Eggs? Maker’s breath, we haven’t had those in an age.”

“Let’s just hope I don’t burn them.” Garrett jokes, snorting around a laugh at the betrayed look Carver gives him.

He loosens the blanket enough to snatch the bowl back. “I’ll do it.”

Garrett concedes with little fight. One, because it’s too much effort to bother trying, and two, he has to get up to get the plates anyway. He gets to his feet with a groan, knees cracking as he straightens his legs. “You get on with that, I’ll wake Mother.”

Carver hums in agreement. He takes the plates Garrett offers, tips the bacon onto them and then cracks four eggs into the emptied pan. “Beware the dragon.”

Garrett is still sniggering as he gently pushes the other bedroom door open. Aveline’s already awake, judging by the way she stiffens at the light now streaming into the room. Her hair fans around her shoulders, loose of its usual ponytail and she pushes it out of her face so she can squint at him.

  “We’re making breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

The sound of his voice is enough to rouse Leandra, and she sits up slowly, pulling the blanket with her. She narrows her eyes when she realises who it is, and runs a hand through her hair.

“Breakfast?” He repeats, gesturing vaguely behind him.

When he doesn’t get an answer, he sighs and lets the door swing shut. He goes to sit beside Carver again, murmuring a thanks when his brother hands him a steaming plate he has to hold with the hem of his tunic.

 “That went well, then.” Carver says, carefully divvying food up between the other plates. He puts two on the table, sets the pan aside, and finally picks up his own breakfast.

 “They can’t blame me if it goes cold.” Garrett says with a shrug. He shoves an entire rasher of bacon into his mouth at once and starts chewing furiously. It burns the roof of his mouth, but he’s too hungry to let that stop him.

Both women eventually appear, just as he’s wiping egg yolk from the corner of his mouth. Aveline’s hair is in its ponytail, although she’s forgone the leather band usually tied around her forehead. Carver is working through his food slightly slower than Garrett, but his mouth is still full, so he just points at the table.

 “Sleep well?” Aveline asks when the silence stretches for just a beat too long.

 “Like a baby.” Carver sighs. He places his plate on the floor for the moment and stretches his arms above his head.

“A very fidgety baby.” Garrett complains.

Carver pulls a face at him, even going so far as to stick his tongue out. He accidentally knocks his ankle against the plate as he stands up and it rattles noisily. Tugging the blanket further around his shoulders, he rubs at the back of his head. “What do you think we should do today?”

Garrett contemplates this. “If Meeran doesn’t have any work for us at the moment, then we’ll need to find another way of earning some money.”

 “Too bad there aren’t any farms around.” Carver jokes. “We’re not exactly good for much else.”

 “Muscles like those?” Garrett grins, winking when Carver scowls at him. Carver’s lips twitch, dangerously close to a smile. “Must be _some_ old woman somewhere who needs help carrying her shopping.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao remember when i said i was gonna stick to a schedule and then immediately didn't?? i meant to, i honestly did. but this chapter pre-editing was roughly 7k and every time i opened it with the intent of working on it, my brain essentially blue screened. most of the work done to be able to update it has been done in the past 36 hours, but here i am at almost 2 a.m. my time with an update.
> 
> i... don't know how long it'll be until the next chapter. hopefully not as long as it took for me to get this one out, but seeing as i was writing on like three different word docs and scenes are all over the place, i make no promises.
> 
> also this chapter is fairly oc heavy and i'm sorry for that, but i don't really have much of a choice when the only canon red iron member we ever get is meeran, so
> 
> anyway this is getting long, so here's me signing out by saying: you can find me on tumblr at [@jilypad](http://jilypad.tumblr.com) and on twitter at [@yulbos](https://twitter.com/yulbos)

Somehow, and Garrett really doesn’t _know_ how despite being the one to do it, they find enough odd jobs over the next few days to help Gamlen keep them fed. They spend _hours_ traipsing around the Gallows doing the _dumbest_ things for people. The one that will forever stick out in his mind, though, includes an accidental introduction to _The Blooming Rose_ and its staff. There had been a lost scarf, an hour-long search that resulted in finding out that _Gamlen_ of all people had won it in a bet, and Carver being propositioned upon its safe return. Garrett’s never seen his brother’s face go that red before. If he’d had a moment to think about it, he might have considered finding a healer. As it was, he’d been laughing too hard.

They get more adventurous in their exploring as the week progresses. Leandra never accompanies them, instead choosing to stay inside and keep warm by the paltry fire they light every morning. Not that it stops her from complaining when they only manage a few silvers.

They quickly learn that Hightown is where the real money is earnt. The populace are, generally speaking, pompous and self-entitled to an astonishing degree. But they’re also more than willing to hand over stupid amounts of money for the simplest of inconveniences. They’re also a lot less likely to give you the time of day if you’re still covered in the build up of sweat and grime that weeks of nonstop travel results in. Scrubbing himself clean in sea water hadn’t been pleasant, but the small pier near Gamlen’s house is the freshest source he’s been able to find.

Meeran comes to them on the fourth day. Garrett and Carver are beating the dust out of their blankets when the knock comes, leaving Aveline to answer the door. Carver’s taken to propping the bedroom door open with one of his boots, though, so they’re easily able to tell who it is.

 “Morning, gents.” Meeran says cheerfully, when Garrett pokes his head into the room. “How are we today?”

“All the better for seeing you.” Carver calls out, throwing his blanket in the general direction of Gamlen’s bed. He ignores Garrett’s tutting as he moves into the main room.

 Meeran smirks slightly. “Glad to hear it. Sorry to’ve kept you waiting, there wasn’t a lot going.”

 “But there is now?” Aveline guesses. She’d stepped out of the way as soon as she’d opened the door, allowing Meeran into the room. The way his eyes dart around make Garrett think he’s casing the place, although he seems to find it wanting because he rolls his shoulders and focusses his attention on Aveline instead.

 “Aye.” He looks between the three of them. “Don’t suppose any of you know how to pick a lock?”

Garrett raises his hand, like he’s five years old and learning his letters all over again. “I’m alright.”

He gets a nod of acknowledgement. “Good enough. A job came in yesterday that I think could be good practice. The details don’t matter too much just yet – I’ll let Alec fill you in. She’ll be showin’ you the ropes, anyway.”

Garrett nods quickly, swallowing a few times before managing an, “Okay.”

 “What about us?” Carver asks, nothing but genuine curiosity. “Obviously we’re not going with him, but is there anything else we can do?”

 “Like I said: there’s only the one job going.” Meeran says, watching Carver’s shoulders drop. “But I’ll take you to one of the safehouses and you can cosy up to some of the others, if you want.”

Carver hums and shares a look with Aveline. “What do you say to making some new friends?”

 “If we’re going to be working with them for the next year then we should introduce ourselves.” She says, matching Carver’s smile with a small one of her own.

 “Unbelievable.” Leandra, who had up until this point been watching silently from the sofa, gets up and flounces into her room. She slams the door behind her, hard enough to rattle the entire house, and Garrett sighs.

Meeran raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Instead he motions for them to follow him outside. “I’ll take you now, let you get nice and settled. That way there’s plenty of time to schmooze, and _you’ll_ ,” he shoves a finger very close to Garrett’s nose, “know where to go if you get separated from Alec.”

Garrett spares the house one last glance, distantly aware of Carver chatting with Meeran as they follow him down the dusty street. He bites his bottom lip, blows out a long breath, and then turns to catch up.

* * *

“This them?” Is the first thing to greet them when Meeran lets them into the safehouse.

The person who asked is a young woman, leaning against the nearest table and running a hand through short, auburn hair in order to pull it into a stubby ponytail. Garrett thinks he catches sight of a pointed ear, but the only real light is coming from a few flickering candles scattered around the room. She’s not quite scowling – a subject Garrett considers himself something of an expert on – but she is frowning.

Garrett looks beyond her at the room around them. It’s lavish, albeit slightly tacky, and looks like it might once have been a brothel; there’s a plush carpet that remains a garish shade of red even though it’s clearly faded in spots, and the walls are a dark wood that are littered with a mismatch of cheap paintings. A long, fully stocked bar is nestled at the back of the room, behind which a stocky dwarf stands.

  “This is them.” Meeran agrees, sweeping a hand towards them. “Hawkes, meet Alec. Alec, these’re the Hawkes.” He includes Aveline in his gesture, but surprisingly she doesn’t seem overly bothered by it.

 “A pleasure.” Alec says, a sardonic twist to her mouth.

Aveline shrugs off her shield and leans it up against the nearest wall. She stands up straight and flicks at a loose hair on her shoulder. “Likewise.”

 “Not to be rude or nothin’,” Alec pushes off the table and prowls towards them, “but which one’a you’s which?”

 “Oh, I-,” Carver practically jumps forward and ducks his head a little. “I’m Carver, he’s Garrett.”

She turns her gaze to him and he shrugs. “I _am_ Garrett.”

Meeran, apparently deeming his introduction complete, wanders off in the direction of the bar. Garrett’s too far away to hear their exchange, but he watches the dwarf throw his head back with a laugh, slap the top of the bar, and then disappear behind it. His head reappears a moment later, black plaits swinging merrily as he places a dark green bottle on the counter. Meeran takes it, waving off the offered glass, and goes to sit at one of the tables in the back corner, rolling the bottle between his hands.

Someone clears their throat, drawing his attention back to the group. Alec is looking at him expectantly, and Carver is clearly trying to hide his amusement by staring determinedly up at the ceiling, even as his shoulders shake.

 “Sorry, what?” He asks, offering what he hopes is a sheepish smile.

Alec’s look becomes even more unimpressed, and she rolls her eyes. “I _asked_ who was comin’ with me.”

 “Oh, that’d be me.” Garrett says, elbowing Carver in the ribs when he doesn’t stop laughing. “Meeran said something about needing a lockpick?”

 “Follow me.” She says, turning on her heel and skirting around the table so she can lead him across the room. He shares one last, helpless, look with Aveline and Carver before going after her. There’s a closed door beside the bar that Garrett hadn’t even noticed. They pause beside Meeran long enough for Alec to say, “I’ll fill him in.”

 “Send some of the others down, would you?” Meeran calls after them. “Rather boring down here.”

Alec doesn’t answer, just waves a hand over her head as she pushes the door open. The stairwell is significantly plainer than the main room, and they take the stairs two at a time. A threadbare runner goes as far as the first landing, so worn in places the floor beneath is visible. It’s because of this that Garrett only narrowly avoids tripping over and landing flat on his face as he attempts to keep up. Quick thinking has him grabbing the banister before he tips too far forward, but it’s close.

“Watch yerself.” Alec says with a laugh. He glances up, heart pounding somewhere around his throat, to find her watching him from the next set of steps. She winks.

 “Definitely.” He says, voice little more than a croak. He takes a deep breath and tries to convince his heartbeat to return to normal. “Don’t fancy doing that again.”

 “Good plan.” She resumes her climb, and this time he isn’t so quick in rushing after her. She stops at the next landing, anyway. “Don’t worry, we’re ‘ere.”

 He comes to a stop beside her, and clutches at his chest. “A miracle.”

The stairs carry on upwards, but Alec jerks her head at the hallway in front of them. She leads him past a few closed doors, before knocking on one of them and poking her head inside. “Boss wants you downstairs – pass it on.”

 “Yeah, well, boss can suck my-” Alec snaps the door shut, cutting off the distinctly feminine voice coming from inside. She rolls her eyes at Garrett and then carries on down the hall.

A few seconds later she slips through a door on the left, keeping it propped open with her foot long enough for Garrett to duck in as well. An unmade cot is pressed against one wall, flanked by a small side table and a rickety wooden chair. Weak sunlight filters through a small, grubby window above the bed, and Garrett _thinks_ he can just about make out the Chantry in the distance. It’s hard to tell over all the other rooftops.

 “You live here?” He asks, watching Alec cross over to the table. She picks up a well-used candle, more wax on the plate underneath it than on the candle itself.

 “Nah.” She says, clicking her fingers and making a weak flame appear in the space between her thumb and middle finger. She tuts when it takes more than one attempt for the wick to catch, and then smirks when she catches him watching. “It’s just a place to crash, if we need to.”

Another look around the room, just so he doesn’t have to face her amusement, reveals the fact that there are a few drawings stuck to the walls. They’re childlike in quality; stick figures with different coloured spikes for hair. Several books lay scattered over the top of the table, but the light glints off the spines so Garrett can’t make out any titles.

He purses his lips and rolls his shoulders, stepping further into the room. Alec nods at the chair, so he sinks down onto the edge. It tips a little as it settles, creaking as he fidgets in an attempt at getting more comfortable. She mirrors him, mattress barely dipping under her weight as she perches on the bed.

 “So,” Garrett starts, clenching and unclenching his hands in his lap, “Meeran said something about a job?”

 “Let me guess – he didn’t tell you anythin’?” Alec quirks a brow and sighs when he nods. “Typical.”

 “All he told me was that he needed a lockpick.” He trips over his words in an effort to get them out and tuts at himself. “I’m not even that good, honestly. I fuck it up just as often as I get it right.”

Alec smiles, and it’s almost _gentle_. Definitely not the smug amusement he’s seen thus far, anyway. “‘Least yer honest. S’not that hard, really, and there’s not much chance of gettin’ caught. Simple in ‘n’ out.”

 “If I know anything, you’ve just jinxed us.” Garrett says, relieved to see her smile grow a little bit.

 “Nah, ‘s a piece of cake. Some stuffy noble up in Hightown wants us to rob some other stuffy noble. They don’t think anything can touch ‘em, so most of the time they don’t even ‘ave guards.” She gives him a critical onceover. “We spruce _you_ up a bit, no one’ll question it.”

He swallows thickly. “I – okay. What do you want _me_ to do, exactly?”

 “Not a lot – I could do it on my own, and Meeran knows it. So fer now, yer just taggin’ along to see how we do things.” She shoves a hand under the edge of the table and pulls out a drawer he hadn’t even realised was there. Two sheets of parchment are clutched in her fingers and she hands both over to him.

The top is an intricate map of what he vaguely recognises as Hightown, although it doesn’t cover a large enough area to be certain. Three streets, at most, and there’s a large circle drawn around one of the buildings in red ink.

Alec leans over to point at it. “Goes without sayin’ that this is the place. Normally we burn these before a job, but this time you can keep it ‘til we get there.” She sits back and motions for him to flip the page. “Once we’re in, that’s what we want.”

‘That’ turns out to be an equally detailed drawing of what is either a jewellery or music box – it’s hard to tell given all he can see is the lid. The pattern is distinctive, though, swirling all the way out to the edges before curling back in to meet in the centre.

 “Do we even know where it is? That house has to be huge, right?”

Alec seems almost pleased by this. “Intel suggests the master bedroom. East side, first floor.”

 “ _Master_ bedroom?” Garrett wipes his palms against his thighs. “And we’re meant to get in _without_ being caught?”

 “Family’s in Val Royeaux suckin’ up to the ‘Lesians, and the servants only work durin’ the day. We’ll be fine.”

He nods once, and then waggles the parchment with the box on it. “What happens to this one?”

 “Keep it ‘til we’ve got what we’re going in for.”

 “Okay.” He tightly rolls both sheets together, making sure the map is on top. “What time do we start?”

 “Few hours. Gives us time to get our glad rags on _and_ go over plan. Not that there’s much of one, mind.”

* * *

Several hours – plus a hot bath and a good shave – later, and Garrett’s as ready as he’s going to get. The first challenge of the evening, as decided by Alec, is to find the house on his own. Her reasoning is sound: even with their ‘disguises’ they would draw too much attention walking together. That, and she wants him to learn his way around on his own.

Honestly, he can’t even refute the logic. He might be wearing the nicest – definitely the cleanest, at any rate – set of duds he’s ever seen, but that doesn’t mean they would stand a chance of holding up to close inspection. Being on his own means he’s able to move quicker, and theoretically draw less attention. Given how his heart is hammering away in his chest and the sheen of sweat on his brow, he’s not entirely convinced.

Hightown is an intimidating place even at the best of times. Something about the impeccable exteriors of the buildings, with their blooming flower boxes and neatly kept front gardens, sets him on edge. The perpetual grime of Lowtown is nowhere to be found, and it makes him feel incredibly out of place. Thankfully, it’s an easy enough place to navigate after learning his way around the twisting back alleys that lead to Gamlen’s house.

The house in question is in the furthermost right corner of Hightown, which means Garrett has to walk through the entire neighbourhood to get there. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, half convinced he’s being followed, and only stops when he sees Alec up ahead. She doesn’t openly acknowledge him, but he sees her back straighten. It’s casual, like she’s merely shifting weight from one foot to the other. He tries his best to dry his palms without wiping them on his trousers, but it proves difficult.

 “This way.” Alec mutters when he’s close enough to hear her. They’d agreed he wouldn’t say anything, so he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets and carries on walking. They aren’t very deep pockets, however, and it makes his elbows stick out awkwardly.

He remains a few paces behind her, careful to stop himself from looking too nervous, as she leads him down a narrower street. It’s not an alley, exactly, but it’s probably the closest thing Hightown has to one. Alec stops in front of a solid wooden door with a small glass window at the top.

 “Service entrance. Locks’re easier to pick.” She explains, holding out an expectant hand.

It takes him a moment to realise what she wants, and he hurries to pull the scroll out from where it had been tucked against the small of his back. There’s suddenly slightly more give around his waist and he busies himself with fixing the problem as he watches her. She’s got the scroll in one hand, a flickering flame in the other, and within moments the parchment is ash. What doesn’t float away naturally she kicks around one of the trellises of climbing ivy.

“Your turn.” She murmurs, stepping aside so that he can kneel in front of the door.

Before he does anything else, he unrolls the picture of the box that is still in his hand. He flattens it on the ground and then carefully kneels down. Once satisfied there’s no chance of his clothes getting dirty, he turns his attention to the door. It’s not an overly complicated lock, by any means – no different from the ones he’d picked back in Ferelden. Of course, those people had been as equally poor as his own family – barely able to make a living, whilst whoever lived in _this_ house supposedly had more money than they knew what to do with. Clearly not enough to care about the safety of their own home, but that isn’t _Garrett’s_ fault.

He can feel Alec’s eyes boring into his shoulder blades as he works, but he refuses to let the pressure get to him. His hands are steady as he lets the small toolkit slide out of his sleeve – a “gift” from Meeran, just before he’d left. He slips the hook into the lock, almost pressing his ear to the wood as he listens for the subtle tap of the pins. It takes him two tries because he accidentally hits one pin too soon the first time and has to start again. Eventually, though, the lock _snicks_.

 “Maybe we’ll keep you after all.” Alec says from where she’s leant against the wall again, rolling a handmade cigarette between two fingers. She doesn’t light it, instead tucking it behind an ear. “Nice work.”

 “Thanks.” Garrett mutters, ducking his head. His cheeks feel warm even in the cool evening breeze, and he pats the back of a hand against one.

 “Job’s not done yet, though.” Her footsteps are light as she walks back to him, leaning over his arms to push the door open. When he doesn’t move right away, she nudges him with her knee. “You first.”

He takes a deep breath and a tentative step into the building. Alec brushes against his back as she eases the door shut behind them, and then turns to take stock of the room. She lifts a hand, fire already flickering in her cupped palm. It’s not overly bright, and it definitely isn’t giving off any sort of heat, but it’s enough for Garrett to see most of the room. They’re in a kitchen, which is unsurprising. Nothing too fancy, just a large unlit fireplace on the other side of the room, with what looks to be a pantry tucked just to the side. A large counter takes up the centre of the room, various utensils set out in preparation for the next time they’re needed. It smells vaguely musty, but it looks clean enough.

 “Where to now?” He asks quietly. It echoes, even though it’s barely above a whisper.

 “From what we know, there should be a staircase over there.” Alec whispers back, directly into his ear as she slips past him and follows the wall they’re closest to. To Garrett it just looks like a wall, leading to a corner point, but to his surprise Alec passes where logic tells him the wall _should_ end and keeps going for another few steps. “Huh, they were right. For once.”

He hurries over, careful to avoid touching anything. He’s so focussed on doing that, that he almost crashes into the corner of the counter. Luckily Alec doesn’t see it this time, because she’s already disappeared up the steep, narrow staircase. The floorboards creak under his feet, and he tries to ignore how loud it sounds as he rushes up them after her.

Alec stops at the top, just out of the way so he doesn’t walk into her. The hallway they’re in now is cramped, almost claustrophobic, with a series of doors branching off at regular intervals. Taking him by the arm, and therefore keeping him from stumbling, she leads the way down the hall. Garrett doesn’t dare speak, because she’s counting under her breath as they go. She pauses at the sixth door.

It _really_ hits Garrett as they enter the master bedroom, just how disgustingly rich the people who live here are. What looks like a satin curtain hangs from the large window, hanging in careful, deliberate creases. The bed is a four poster, another set of drapes tapering off to pool on the carpeted floor. There’s an Orlesian style dresser opposite the end of the bed, with a large, ornate mirror hanging above it. Various bottles of scents are lined neatly on top, and Alec picks up the emptiest one long enough to sniff it. She pulls a face, and then sets it back down in exactly the same spot she took it from.

 “Any idea?” Garrett asks.

She turns to look at him, one arm outstretched to give the room as much light as she can manage. She’s careful to stay away from the window. “Well, they can’t do all the work for us, can they?”

 “No, but an idea on where to start’d be nice.” He grumbles. Nevertheless, he starts investigating. He pulls a drawer out of the dresser and flicks through the contents, seeing far too many pairs of women’s undergarments in the process.

Alec vanishes through an open door, into what seems to be a walk-in wardrobe judging by the rustling he can hear coming from inside. “Think of it this way,” she calls, voice muffled, “at least you know you earned yer money.”

 “Right, because a bunch of mercs have morals.” He scoffs, throwing the piece of silky material in his hand back into the drawer. Now that Alec’s fire is gone, he has nothing but the weak moonlight to rely on. Luckily, or not as the case may be, the only things he finds are clothes, so he doesn’t have to inspect anything too closely.

 “We’re a lot more honourable than people think, you know.” There’s a thud, then the sound of Alec’s cursing, and _then_ what sounds like the sole of her boot hitting wood.

 “Can’t say I’ve noticed.” He says, slamming the drawer shut. There’s a moment of total silence after that, that lasts just a little too long. “You okay?”

Alec appears in the doorway a moment later, her cheeks red and hair hanging around her face. She swipes at it, pushing it out of her eyes, and scowls. “Meeran’s done right by me.” She says, although something in the _way_ she says it makes him think that’s not what she’s angry about.

Dresser finished with, Garrett gives the plush duvet and pillows on the bed a mournful look, before slowly lowering himself onto his stomach. The floor isn’t _uncomfortable_ by any stretch of the imagination – in fact, it’s arguably the comfiest thing he’s laid on in weeks. But it wouldn’t be his first choice. He shuffles as close to the edge of the bed as he can, and squints into the darkness. The vague sound of Alec moving around behind him has him waving a hand in that direction.

 “Come here a sec, would you?”

 “You’re bossy, for a rookie.” She complains, but he hears her walk over to him anyway. When her feet have stopped next to his head, she sighs. “What?”

 “I can’t see anything down here.”

 “And what makes you think they’ve hidden _anything_ under there?”

Garrett twists enough to stare up at her. “For starters, have you _seen_ the size of this thing? It’s as big as a bloody _ocean_. Plus, given the amount of other shit in this room, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Alright, alright. Have it your way.” She tries to shine as much light as she can under the bed without having to actually bend down too much. After a minute or so of abject failure, she gives up and joins him on the floor. “Fine, you win.” She huffs as she sits cross legged, elbow resting on her knee.

Under the bed doesn’t prove nearly as fruitful as Garrett had been hoping. There’s a low, thin chest on the other side, and what looks like an upturned rocking horse, but that’s it. With a resigned sigh, he pushes himself up onto his knees.

 “See anythin’?” Alec asks, watching the flame dance in her palm.

 “Nothing interesting.”

She reaches out to pat his leg sympathetically. “It weren’t a _bad_ idea.”

 “Still not what we want, though.” He meets her eye briefly, before his gaze slides to the bookshelf behind her. He struggles to his feet and brushes past her.

 “Yer bein’ weird.” She says, following him anyway.

He doesn’t answer, too busy rifling through books. When that doesn’t work, he starts pulling them off the shelves and stacking them in careful piles on the floor. Once satisfied, he begins running his fingers over the back panelling.

 “What’re you _doin’_ , Hawke?”

He considers this for a moment. “If you were some rich, paranoid arsehole with too much time on your hands, where would you hide something you didn’t want anyone else to find?”

 “Not in a bookcase.”

 “Which I think,” he groans as his fingers slip behind one of the panels and catches a sharp corner of something else, “is exactly why _they_ did.” He pulls on whatever it is, and curses when it doesn’t so much as budge.

Some gentle coaxing is enough to have it slipping free, and he thrusts it in Alec’s direction. It’s made of a lighter wood, although he can’t tell what kind given the poor lighting. The pattern is far more extensive than the drawing had suggested, curling around the sides in a deep, rich blue. He holds it out for Alec’s inspection.

 “Is this seriously it?” She asks, poking at it with her index finger. She taps the lid, humming when it sounds hollow. “It’s so small.”

 “This _is_ it though, right?”

She takes the box from him and tucks it into some hidden pocket in her jacket. “Definitely – I could draw this bloody thing in my _sleep_ , no mistake.”

“Thank the Maker.” He breathes out, shoulders slumping. He fights back a sudden yawn and runs a hand over his chin. “So, what now?”

Alec gives him a long look, lips twitching ever so slightly. “We give this to Meeran, he passes it on, we get paid.”

 “… Not what I meant.”

The twitching turns into a grin. “First, we clean up.”

Thanks to Garrett, replacing the books isn’t actually all that difficult, despite how many there are. He sees Alec pause by the bottles of perfume again, eyeing them up for a few seconds, before shaking her head and stomping back over to the door.

When they’re back out on the main street, walking together this time, Alec winks at him. “Maybe we’ll keep you.”

* * *

When Alec leads the way into the safehouse, he’s about ready to find the nearest available bed and collapse into it for the foreseeable future. That is, of course, until he sees Carver being hemmed into one of the booths towards the back of the room. A man, tall and slender in stature, sits ramrod straight beside him due to them being pressed shoulder to shoulder. An elderly dwarf sits in the aisle seat, playing with the tankard in front of them. At the sound of the door slamming shut, Carver’s head shoots up, eyes pleading for help.

Garrett, naturally, does _not_ help. Instead he approaches the table with a weak grin as he hears Alec wander over to Meeran. “Having fun?” He asks, grin growing at the look Carver gives him.

He hadn’t noticed Aveline, at first, but he sees her now. She’s directly opposite Carver, forearms resting on the table so that they’re not pinned to her sides. Her eyes are just as pleading as Carver’s when she glances up at the sound of his voice.

 “You must be Garrett.” The dwarf says, and his voice isn’t nearly as gruff as Garrett has come to expect. His beard shifts as he talks, and it takes Garrett a moment to realise it’s because he’s smiling.

 “That’s me.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Sorry I wasn’t here to make friends.”

 “No worries.” The dwarf says. His eyes are filled with a kind of mischief Garrett immediately knows he’s going to enjoy immensely. “We’ve done it for you.”

Aveline rubs a hand over the back of her neck, dislodging her ponytail as her shoulders slump.

 “How’d it go?” The person beside Aveline asks. Upon closer inspection he realises that the two on Aveline’s side of the table are siblings – possibly even twins. Same black hair, same dark skin, and almost identical frowns. It’s eerie in a way Carver and Bethany had never quite reached.

 “Excellent.” Alec says, drowning out Garrett’s own answer of ‘Alright.’ At some point she’d abandoned Meeran and now claps a hand on Garrett’s shoulder, making him jump. “Tell you what,” she points at Carver, “you two’re half as good as ‘e is and we’ll get on jus’ fine.”

Garrett hears a cork being popped, making him look over his shoulder long enough to see Meeran tuck the box into his tunic. The dwarf behind the bar – and he’s _seriously_ got to start learning their names – has a gleaming silver tray propped on the counter. A dozen or so mismatched glasses are balanced on top. He lets the bottle of what looks to be champagne settle for a moment before beginning to pour a hefty amount into each glass.

Meeran waits until he’s finished and then carefully picks the tray up. “A toast!” He calls as he winds his way over to them. “To a first job well done.”

He slides the tray onto the table, eyebrows twitching upwards when Garrett doesn’t immediately reach out for one. Once satisfied everyone else has taken one, he reaches for the smaller of the two remaining glasses. Meeran nods at him, the movement almost imperceptible.

Alec slaps a hand against his back, glass raised in the air as she turns to the table at large. “Welcome to the Red Iron!”

The table cheers, laughter bubbling when champagne is spilt in their enthusiasm to clink glasses.

 “Welcome to the Red Iron!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> so one day i had the thought, as i so often do with these things, of: "what if hawke stays in the red iron for the rest of the game" and thus this fic was born.
> 
> i'll be honest - i don't know how long this is going to take, or how regularly updates will be made. i've got a lot written at the moment, but that's all without editing _and_ is very much only just scratching the surface


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